


Honeymooning

by badass_normal



Category: Lost
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-10
Updated: 2010-07-10
Packaged: 2017-10-11 01:21:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/106731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badass_normal/pseuds/badass_normal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After one of them gets married, the other members of the band Jughead investigate a group of rocker chicks. Rockstar AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honeymooning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hitlikehammers](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=hitlikehammers).



_Friday_

He actually had to flash his ID to get past security, because he was unrecognizable in a tux. The burly men in charge of keeping the church closed to the public probably would have had no trouble if he had been in a ripped sleeveless shirt, tattoos and biceps on display, wearing his earrings, but the idea of Jack Shephard, lead guitarist of Jughead, dressed up and clean shaven, clearly threw them for a loop.

There were ten bridesmaids, every one of them blonde except for the maid of honor. Jack had deduced during rehearsal that he hadn't slept with any of them, which was always a good thing. Of course, he would have much rather been in the situation of having slept with one of the bridesmaids than the one he was currently in.

James did not look nervous at all, which Jack actually found surprising. For months, he had been lamenting the impending loss of freedom, the bland monogamy of marriage, the old ball and chain. However, he had vetoed the idea of a bachelor party and just treated his four bandmates to wings and beer in his basement. Boone had brought shrooms and they all tripped themselves senseless, but Jack would have expected James to at least have wanted a stripper or two.

Jack was used to being the grown up among them. Now it looked like James was finally catching up. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

"Have you seen her yet?" Jack asked, standing next to James.

"I'm told it's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding."

Jack mentally rolled his eyes. "I thought she didn't believe in that crap."

"She don't. She's got a sister, maybe you've met her." James absently touched his bow-tie. It was a very strange look on him.

"Yeah," Jack muttered in assent. Rachel had been micromanaging the wedding from day one, for better or for worse. "You know Rachel and I almost hooked up once?"

James snorted. "Everyone knows."

"We were sixteen! How do people know?"

Fixing him with a level, blue-green stare, "anythin' ever happen Juliet didn't eventually find out?"

Jack swallowed. Thumbed the ring in his pocket. James' ring for Juliet. Surreal.

\--

Guests were beginning to file into the church, security requiring both an invitation and a photo ID. Jack slipped away from the groom and the bridesmaids and the ushers and began poking his head into doors until he found what he was looking for. Or rather, whom.

"Jack."

He sort of stopped still and took in the sight of her form-fitting wedding dress, her hair in gentle waves, and was glad he had decided to find her before the ceremony, because it would have been awkward if his reaction to her had been seen by the public.

He didn't tell her she looked beautiful.

"Nervous?" he said instead, because that was how people were supposed to be on their wedding days.

"Of course not," she replied, turning back to the full length mirror in front of her. "James is the one who proposed, so I'm not too worried about him leaving me at the altar."

"What are you doing in here?" Juliet's mother Sandra demanded. Jack had not noticed her when he first opened the door.

"Just wishing Juliet good luck."

"You, me, outside, now," Sandra snapped abrasively.

"Mom—"

"Stop it, Julie. This doesn't concern you."

Jack sighed. "What could it possibly concern then, Ms. Carlson?" But he followed her into the hallway without an answer, miming hanging himself to Juliet on the way out. She smirked, flushed, looked at the flowers in her hands.

"Now I have been holding this in for years, Jack Shephard, but don't think that means I never knew what you and that awful Ford boy were doing with and to my daughter and each other under my own roof."

Quite suddenly Jack felt as though the temperature in the hallway had dropped and his body heat had skyrocketed at the same time. The bottom dropped out of his stomach and it was difficult to draw a breath. "Excuse me?" he managed, wondering why his normally flawless poker face was failing him when there was something more important than money at stake.

"I let it go on because you boys were the only people she ever loved, but it was unnatural and inappropriate and I will regret my inaction for the rest of my life." She paused, looked Jack up and down. "Especially now that I see what the two of you have become."

"And what is that?" Jack challenged, folding his arms defensively, putting a stopper on all the memories he had sworn to ignore on today of all days.

"Perpetual drug-crazed adolescents who think they understand music."

Jack laughed disbelievingly. "Have you told your daughter that you don't approve of her fiancé? Because I'm really not the one you need to be talking to about this."

"Julie and I have had endless arguments about it. She's apparently okay with the fact that you and him—the two of you—together—"

It was a small victory for Jack that she could not even say it out loud. "If she's okay with it, maybe it's time for you to let it go," Jack said. "It's not like it's still going on."

Sandra glared at him as though she had not even heard. "Don't you steal him away from her, Jack."

_She stole him from me_, he didn't say.

\--

"I've known James and Jules for a long time," Jack began into the microphone, holding his glass of champagne as though it were someone's throat, and _Jules_ tasted all wrong. "In fact, when I was a teenager, they were the two good things in my life. Them, and the fledgling band." There was a series of cheers from the guests and Jack gave them time to get it out of their systems. "For those collecting trivia, Juliet actually came up with the name, back when James and I were just fooling around on our instruments with two guys named Horace and, uh, Scott?"

"Steve," Juliet corrected, joined in her laughing by other guests.

"Yeah, Steve. And look at us now," he gestured to the enormous room, to the guests, to the limited paparazzi that had been allowed in. "There are naysayers, but those of you who've proclaimed the end of Jughead, that Juliet is our Yoko, I say this: Juliet Carlson, no, Juliet _Ford_, is and has always been a part of our band, and without her we would have fallen apart a long time ago!" Jack smiled drunkenly into the mike to the sound of the cheering guests. "But enough about the band. Let's talk about the bride and groom."

"Boring!" Boone called from two tables over.

"Security!" James shouted, joking. More laughs.

"Anyway." Jack cleared his throat and tried to recall what he was going to say. "Anyway, James and Juliet are two of the most giving people I know. They're the kind of friends who would take a bullet for you, the kind of friends who will drop whatever they are doing and speed to your house at three in the morning if you call. Hell, if you needed to get laid, they'd probably even let you into their bed." The room erupted in laughter, but Juliet's face was suddenly expressionless, cold, and Jack knew what that meant. And he was glad.

He continued, avoiding the hurt he could feel in James' gaze. "I still remember that night eight years ago when James crawled into my window and told me that he had kissed her. Did you know, Juliet, that he spent _three hours_ talking about that kiss?" Jack had been present the first time James and Juliet had kissed. It had been his suggestion, a way to make their little triangle an equilateral one. How ironic.

"The point is, I've watched them grow together, and I can say with authority that I have never known of a couple so perfect for each other, so meant to be, as these two." He lifted the glass above his head. "And in addition, they're the prettiest people in the world. Let's hear it for James and Juliet!"

There was a roar of approval, and Jack drank with the rest of them.

\--

They found him a few hours later, chatting up the caterer, a cute blonde woman called Sarah.

"We have a few minutes," Juliet told him quietly, gesturing to the expanse of unlit beach that was completely dark at this hour.

"For what?"

She reached into her dress, between her breasts, and pulled out a trio of joints. "Old time's sake?"

"Perfect," he mumbled, thinking about his speech earlier.

James took him by the hand and Jack closed his eyes at the feel of James' fingers interlaced with his own.

They trudged away from the reception, past two security men, and James nodded at them. They nodded back.

Settling down onto the sand, James pulled a lighter out of his pocket. Juliet handed him a joint and he lit up. They sat in silence, passing the first one around slowly. Jack closed his eyes and thought of being fifteen, of the camaraderie, of the trust, between the three of them. Every kind of virginity being slowly taken care of. He remembered this one particularly well, the loss of the marijuana virginity. He and James had both been baked while Juliet had looked on, wondering what the big deal was.

Eight years later, she was the one who most enjoyed the weed.

They finished the first one, and Juliet lit the second. Finally, "we both love you, Jack. And that will never change."

She would look at him, but James wouldn't. He wondered.

 

_Saturday_

"Absolutely not."

"C'mon, Jack!" Boone said enthusiastically. "It's not so much a concert as an opportunity for voyeurism."

"You realize that those girls are practically underage?"

"They're eighteen, everything about them is legal."

"I think I'll pass. I like sleeping with women, not girls."

"Their music isn't half bad," Richard offered. "They're a big deal. And haven't toured in so long. I miss shows."

"Then you guys go."

"You know, we can be fun too, Jack," Boone muttered. "Just because James will be leaving for his honeymoon doesn't mean nothing is worth doing until he gets back."

Jack thought about that for a good long time. He could feel Boone and Richard and Dan all watching him, waiting for him to say the right thing.

"You're right," he finally replied, defiantly. "Let's go watch these girls make fools of themselves."

"It's their 'Lolita' tour," Boone said. "I am very, very curious."

"These days, that's not such an uncommon way to seek attention," Dan offered from the couch, where he was writing music. As always.

"Well, then, maybe we should try it sometime," Richard deadpanned.

"Ooh, I know some kickass covers we could do." Boone leapt dramatically onto the table and mimed putting a microphone to his lips, breaking into song. "Noddin' my head like yeah. Movin' my hips like yeah…"

"Don't you dare," Jack ordered.

Boone ignored him. "So I put my _haaaands_ up, they're _plaaaaayin'_ my song…"

"You'd better _run_," Jack snarled.

"Fuck," Boone cursed, jumping off the table and retreating across the room.

The door creaked open and their manager, whom they had been waiting for, walked in with a gait that suggested he had a baseball bat encased in barbed wire shoved up his ass. "Who in God's name is singing Miley Cyrus?"

"Dan," Boone accused.

Benjamin Linus rolled his eyes. "If you insist, Mr. Carlyle." He looked around. "Where is Ford?"

"He got married yesterday, so I'd imagine 'boning his wife' wouldn't be too far out."

Jack glared at Boone. Linus didn't bother.

"He really ought to be here for this," Linus casually pointed out, looking at each band member, eyes lingering gently on Richard.

"What happened?"

Linus cleared his throat. "An international greatest hits tour is in order. The world wants you, for some reason, even though you haven't produced a new album in two years."

"Touring would really interrupt my writing," Dan said absently, not argumentatively.

No one listened to him. "So we have four months to put this shit together?" Jack asked, checking his watch, because tours were best started in June.

"Good luck," Linus said.

On his way out he stopped to give Richard a chaste kiss on the cheek. This sort of thing usually never bothered Jack, but for some reason it reopened the deep well of loneliness he had been drowning in ever since James and Juliet had gotten engaged.

He was suddenly glad that he had agreed to go out to the show tonight. He needed to get laid like nobody's business.

\--

The show began with an _a capella_ duet between the lead singer and the drummer, of all people. The singer stood in the front, brown wavy hair tied into pigtails with scarlet ribbon, lips painted to match. Her shirt was also the same color, if it could even be called that; it looked more like a headband that covered nothing but her breasts, revealing a flat stomach and a sexy belly-button piercing. There was an adorable gap between her front teeth that was visible from where Jack stood in the third row, and her over-the-top makeup did little to conceal the freckles. She was a remarkably beautiful girl, even if she looked about fifteen years old.

"Oh my God," Boone said ecstatically as his eyes bathed the singer in lewd intentions. "Now _that_ is a thing of beauty."

"_That_ is a _she_, and I know it's eighteen but it still looks an awful lot like jailbait to me."

The quiet duet ended with a sudden, loud drum fill, and without warning the guitarist, bassist and keyboard player rose onto the stage and the music kicked up into an energetic blues rhythm.

He locked immediately onto the girl with the guitar, and his breath literally stopped in his throat.

She wore a sequined blue halter top and a black micro-mini skirt and heels that curved her legs into perfection, her platinum blonde hair falling to her breasts in ringlet pigtails identical to the singer's, glowing in the spotlights because of its color. Her lips were painted as dramatically red as the singer's as well, although her teeth were nicer. Of course her eyes were her best feature, a pale blue that matched her shirt and he could tell even from where he stood that they were probably endless to gaze into.

Her fingers moved along the guitar like she didn't have to think about it, and he knew the feeling. He found himself watching her hands more than listening to the music, especially while she soloed. But she looked passive, perfunctory, the entire time. She was not inside the music, elated to be onstage and sharing with the enthusiastic crowd. She was just doing her job.

His heart ached for her, this young woman he knew nothing about.

About halfway through the show, she met his eyes, and he knew she saw him staring at her. It did not embarrass him in the slightest.

Maybe she recognized him, maybe she didn't, but her beautiful eyes lingered and a sultry half-smile crept onto her maudlin lips.

During the second set, she dragged a stool out to the center of the stage as the rest of the band members stepped out of the spotlight. Swapping for an acoustic guitar, she sat on the stool and began to sing.

_There's a thing that lives next door  
A doll with flaxen hair  
Her cheeks are rosy and her body is hot  
Instead of a brain she's got nothing but air_

She never speaks, so the guys all love her  
She always does what she is told  
She'll adore you and watch you, she's yours,  
And she'll never grow old

She's the girl who'll suck you off  
And ask for nothing in return  
She'll sell her soul for pretty promises  
When all is said and done

A plastic doll never needed feelings  
At least that's what they always said  
She's there to touch and not to feel  
She's practically perfect and perfectly dead

And you'll stare at her for hours and hours  
She'll take some comfort in your heat  
But all the beauty in the world  
Can't buy a heart that beats.

The applause was a little lukewarm, because it was a quiet, predictable tune. She was just a kid, and it was clear to him why she was not the one who usually wrote the band's lyrics. But something about the amateur, mediocre poetry touched him nonetheless.

\--

The security guards allowed him and Boone backstage after the show, because they were Jughead. Richard and Dan were not interested.

There was a room blasting something hyperactive that sent all the blood in Jack's head spiraling to his extremities. It was darkish inside and smelled like pot, and the music shook the furniture. He wondered if twenty-three was too old to be partying with eighteen-year-olds.

"Think we can find any actual band members in here, or just the men who want them?" Boone asked him as they stood outside, contemplating whether or not it was worth going in if it was possible the band wasn't interested in them.

"Good question," said a voice from behind them.

It was the drummer, who had apparently ignored the "Lolita" directive. She was wearing a plain white t-shirt and jeans, and looked just as incredible as the girls with the pigtails.

"You were great—" Jack began.

"You're the Jughead boys, then?" she interrupted, thrusting her hand forward to Jack. "I'm Ana Lucia. Did you enjoy the show?"

"Uh huh," Boone replied as Jack shook her hand.

"Not my type of music, but you guys sure are talented," Jack said honestly. "Are you hiding out someplace back here?"

She laughed. "Yeah. The mayhem where we are now is a little more controlled. Plus, our keyboardist falls asleep immediately after performing, so we need to keep an eye on her. You two are invited, though." She looked around. "Is it just the two of you?"

"Dan doesn't do parties and Richard is in a relationship and James is leaving for his honeymoon tomorrow morning, so yeah," Boone rambled, eyes stuck on her cleavage.

"I don't know who those people are," Ana Lucia confessed, smiling playfully at Jack. "I imagine James is the one whose wedding has been all over the news?"

"Mmhmm. Hey, can I use the men's room before meeting your lovely friends?" Boone asked. "I've had, uh, a lot to drink."

"I know," she said.

She turned to Jack as soon as Boone disappeared. "You look like you could use some of these," she told him, taking his hand and dropping a few tabs into it. "You and Claire."

"Claire?" he asked, taking the tabs without questioning her. Something about her had earned his trust immediately.

"The guitarist. The one you were undressing with your eyes all night."

He flushed. "That obvious?"

"I look out for her," Ana Lucia said cryptically. "Actually, I kinda look out for everyone. Do you have one of those in your band?"

"Richard, the bassist. Although his idea of looking out for us usually doesn't involve getting us high."

Ana Lucia laughed. "That's the most important thing I do, man." She brushed some hair out of her face. "Kate—she's the singer—gives her best performances while she's tripping. Wasn't she great tonight?"

Before he could answer, Boone stumbled back out of the bathroom. "Okaaay, let's go!"

\--

The singer, Kate, was completely trashed. The ribbons holding her hair in pigtails were coming undone and she was going on noisily to an equally wasted red-haired woman about the _music_, how everything was about the _music_, and Jack was too sober to listen.

The bassist, a young Asian woman, was dancing with a young Asian man to the pervasive beat of club music. Dancing was actually probably not the best word for it. They were basically having dry sex in the middle of the room, without a care for who might be watching them.

Ana Lucia left them for a crowd of men who looked like the crew and dragged one of them into the center of the room to where the bassist and her boyfriend were grinding. Within moments they were all over each other, and Jack had to forcibly tear his eyes away from the sight, because Ana Lucia was really, really nice to look at when she was dancing, hard and athletic yet very feminine in her movements.

Boone went over to join Kate and the redhead, leaving Jack to scan the room for the guitarist. Claire, apparently.

She found him before he found her, because when he finally saw her, she was walking in his direction, hips swaying confidently with each step. Her pigtails were still intact, which was much sexier on her than he had ever seen on other girls trying to do age-play.

Stopping not until she was deep into his personal space, she put her hands on her hips and looked him straight in the eye. "You were watching me during the show," she said, and he was surprised to hear an accent to her words. Australian. Even more exciting.

"You were watching me, too," he replied huskily, dragging his eyes over her body, savoring her sex appeal like it was a hot breeze on his skin.

She didn't reply to that, simply reached out and took his wrist in her small hand. She turned her back to him and placed his hands on her hips, just as someone fiddled with the music.

The music blared from the speakers, manic rhythm pulsing through Jack and dictating his every heartbeat. Claire moved against him like the teenager she was, her ass pressed into his crotch and his hands locked onto her hips. Her feet in their heels didn't move, only her body, her torso, to the beat. The adrenaline raced from the speakers to her to him, through his bloodstream.

After minutes, his hands began to wander. They coasted over her small, firm breasts, splayed over her stomach, skimmed her thighs and she moved under him wherever he went. Eventually his left hand made it to the side of her face and he lowered his mouth to the pale expanse of neck and shoulder. He sank his teeth into her skin, making sure to leave his mark, felt her gasp against him.

He traced his hand back down to the hem of her skirt, hesitantly began sliding it up the inside of her thigh. She parted her legs slightly even as she kept writhing against him. Her underwear was already damp, and knowing that the dancing was turning her on focused the adrenaline toward Jack's cock. He was becoming unreasonably hard; he did this all the time, and usually avoided this kind of intensity with strange girls.

Turning her around, he stopped her and reached into his pocket for an excuse. He pulled out the tabs of MDMA. Her eyes sparkled in the darkness as he slid one into his mouth and offered her the other. She ignored the one in his hand and instead hooked her arms around his neck and brought her lips to his.

Her tongue pressed into his mouth and snagged the tab from under his own tongue. She kissed him for a few moments before retreating with the drug.

He smiled slowly, her taste pleasant in his mouth. "Do you want to make this a private party?" he shouted over the music, hands cupping her ass and pulling her flush against him so she could feel his obvious erection.

She dropped her palm to his crotch and his neck arched subtly. "I was hoping you would ask."

 

_Sunday_

He woke up with white-blonde hair spread across his chest and he could actually feel the dried lipstick stains on his throat.

His hand drifted to the small of her bare back, thumb drawing lazy circles as he rewound the previous night and played it over again. It had been a long time since he'd had such mind blowing sex, and his body was thanking him for it now. The part that was either worrying or eerily terrific was that he and Claire had barely said anything to each other the night before, yet he was perfectly comfortable waking up with her. She felt to him like something that had been missing from most of his life, and he had no idea what exactly that meant.

A smile tickled his face, a true, genuine smile for the first time since James and Juliet became engaged.

It was too perfect to last. She rolled off of him with a heavy sigh, her nudity staring him in the face. He crawled over her, and left a gentle kiss on the skin of her stomach. "Hey," he said, low and hoarse.

Her blue eyes opened, watched him hazily. "Oh. Hi." Her voice was sleepy, her eyelashes flickering.

His next kiss was lower, but she shifted away from him. "That's nice of you, really," she said quickly. "I—I don't have sex sober."

He blinked. "What?"

"I only have sex when I'm drunk or high. It just—I get really uncomfortable otherwise."

Jack sat up and thought about that. "Okay." He moved back and sat against the headboard, next to her. "Can I kiss you?"

She smiled and leaned up, brushing her lips against his softly. "How's that?" she said brightly, before putting her head on his shoulder.

"So have you never had a boyfriend, then?"

Claire wrapped her arms around him and leaned into his chest, full on cuddle-position. "What gave me away?" she replied.

"I've never had a girlfriend, actually."

"Bullshit. You're too good in bed." She rested her lips on his pectoral, in the soft tufts of hair.

"I had friends with benefits." James and Juliet would be leaving for Alaska this morning. He suddenly ached. "That was a long time ago."

She looked up at him, so young and innocent, but if he gazed into her eyes for longer than three seconds, he could see the weight of the world throttling her. "I hear that almost always ends badly."

"I was fifteen-years-old," he said suddenly, sharply, seized by the overwhelming need to tell someone, _anyone_, about the suffocating agony in his heart. "I was fifteen and it was Juliet's idea. It lasted for almost seven years."

Claire just stared for a moment before tilting her head curiously. "So you and your mate James both dated girls named Juliet? I read the papers," she said in response to his quizzical eyebrow lift. Then her eyes narrowed. "Or is it the same girl?"

"It was the three of us," Jack continued, not looking at her, feeling a few tears press behind his eyes. "First it was me and her, then it was me and him, then it was the three of us."

She didn't even miss a beat. "And I'm the girl you fuck because you want to forget that now it's the two of them," Claire said flatly. "Well, I'm glad I know where I stand."

"I really like you," he said weakly. "I'm just—a mess.

"You're a rock god. Of course you are." She didn't sound upset, but she also didn't sound apathetic.

"I'm sorry, I'm being completely inappropriate. This wasn't anything you needed to know."

She exhaled loudly. "Don't worry about it. I'm a fucking mess too. In case you hadn't noticed."

"Don't worry, I noticed," he said, pulling her closely against him.

Then she was laughing, just like that, burying her face in his chest. He could feel her tears on his skin.

"I'm pregnant," she finally choked out.

For a moment he stared, failing to process her words. And then, against all odds, he was laughing too, and it hurt.

"We could be good for each other," he managed after a few minutes of both laughing and crying, the two of them setting each other off every time they almost calmed down. "Can't get much worse, huh?"

She wiped a tear from her eye. "You probably have a point."

He kissed her temple, brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "Can I take you to lunch?" Gazing into those blue eyes and she didn't, _didn't_ remind him of his two best friends.

It was a long time before she answered.


End file.
